But she could only repeat the old story:—
"We came because we thought he was dead—he said that only death should keep him from us—to take his body back with us—only his dear, dead body. That would have been no disgrace. For the Lord Buddha does not permit any one to disgrace the dead who cannot help themselves. But when we knew that he was alive, we knew also that, by coming to Japan, we had harmed him. Then we meant to die without him knowing, keeping always the thin wall between us. Where no one could find us after. But I could not without one word of farewell to his shadow—only his shadow! And one word from him—if there was one. That would not harm him. Oh, yes, I knew that I must not touch his body in Japan! But his shadow! Was that harm? And one word? Would not you have touched his shadow? And he did wish me—he did! And then—I woke in his arms!
"But the clock had struck while I slept. Eight. And that was the signal for Isonna to take a stone in her arms and walk into the moat. And Isonna was faithful. For there he found her afterward, asleep, with the gods, the great stone in her arms. And that one I was to take is still there, on the edge of the moat, waiting. But now I cannot die. He has made my life sweet again. Would you die with life all sweet again, as the morning glories in the morning? So the stone must wait there. Perhaps he and I shall carry it together. For, so he says, we shall die, together, rather than part again."
"You shall not part. Would you like to go to America?" asked the officer.
"No. Nowhere but here."
For America to her was the country of the barbarians—a horrid waste, where no flowers grew.
"But if your husband should go there?"
"Yes!"
The colonel rose.